Noise
by scarlet phlame
Summary: Sound. Of all senses, it had to be sound. (Dramione.) Three of the Hogwards houses are rendered mute and illiterate after a high-level Dark spell is cast. The students of the Slytherin House are each assigned a position in the other three Houses as a translator for their classes. Draco Malfoy has been assigned to Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Sound. Of all senses, it was sound. Of course. What else would it be? The entire school of Hogwarts, fifth year, is rendered unable to speak.

AN: Haven't seen the series recently. If I mess up or contradict myself; oops. Sorry. Bill me for the clean-up.

* * *

It's been a while since she was here.

She remembers the garden and the grass and the smell of pine and oak and wood, the tingle of the bushy weeds against her toes and the lackluster shine of dew-droplets as they fall onto her skin. The sun singing against her skin and the howl of the encroaching wind tugging at the edges of their picnic-mat.

Hermione misses times like these. Days that were forgotten, days that passed, days that she took for granted. No, even hours. _Seconds_.

Tears well up in her eyes and spill down her cheeks, and she chews on her lower lip, swaying at the conjured-up images in a world where opened eyes are its only majesty.

_The hardest thing in this world is to live in it._

"Hey," she whispers, tears glistening in her eyes, hanging suspended from her eyelashes. "Missed you."

The light seems to stretch on forever, _pulling_, tugging her in, into the fold of memory and eidetic sight. Even when her eyes are closed, she can still see them, on that day, the smell of pine in her hair and cloaking her clothing, fingertips, eyelids. Picnic mat. Checkered red. Five A.M. in the morning, just the two of them. Itchy grass. Tiny bugs gnawing at her skin. Weeds irritating her skin.

"Where are you?"

Hermione falls.


	2. Chapter 2

She sees him from across the room.

Sight. Touch. Smell. Taste. Memory. Feeling.

Sound.

She can't talk. Actually, nobody in the whole school can, save for the Slytherins. The whole place is one of silent panic.

The Gryffindors are all gathered in the common room. It's the quietest the place has ever been. She's become so accustomed to the oh-so-often belligerent ranting about a teacher or a subject, or the playful banter between friends. Even her own friends. The air is still, now, still and silent and, frankly, musty, stagnant in the wake of the deep silence. (She almost expects Seamus to blunder in with a sarcastic, snotty retort.)

She grips onto Ron's hand, to her left, and then Harry's hand.

Some are pacing silently. Most are sitting or staring at the walls.

"So, does anyone know how this started?" she wants to ask. But even if she could speak, nobody would answer. Her gaze flickers onto the ornate rug, and then back up to him, standing at the crook of the room.

"Bored, now," he murmurs, and she sees Harry breathe out an inward groan. Draco smirks, steps out from the corner of the room, tossing a golden sphere in his hand. She realizes it's a Snitch, and the part of her mind that isn't frozen in shock wonders where– and how– he came upon it. "Anyone up for a game of Muggle chess? No? No volunteers?" He grins, catlike, and clasps his hand over the Snitch as it falls for the last time, the eternal paradox of the clap of pleather gloves and fine engraved gold stilling.

A mug falls and shatters on the floor. As if broken out of a trance, the crowd of Gryffindors in the small of the room separates, flying towards the wall as if from a flame. Draco rolls his eyes. A Gryffindor wordlessly kneels over and picks up the dilapidated scraps of a mug.

Hermione almost dips her hand into her robe's pocket, but then recalls that her wand isn't there. She clenches Ron's hand in a vice grip tighter, then Harry's.

She inhales sharply, tastes the dead air, and gazes across the room at Draco.

.

The whole school's just had their wands confiscated. Rooms checked. Bags checked. Everything, checked. Hermione supposes the culprit is standing right in front of her, clad in green robes, a frankly creepy grin, and platinum blonde hair.

It's a spell, some sort of spell, cast over the entire school, rendering every House (except for Slytherin) mute. Unable to speak. Scream. Shout. Write.

"You," she mouths at Draco.

"What did I do?" he pouts, bending over, conjuring up the illusion of a mock-whine. It doesn't last long, and soon the eternal smirk's back on his face. "Guess I got lucky, Granger. Whoever cast this spell–" he pauses, and gestures behind him, "–liked Slytherins a lot."

_Yeah. And they apparently have the Dark Arts skill of a Death Eater._

Recalling Dumbledore's earlier speech – something about no magic being allowed, followed by an encouraging ramble – she plucks up the one piece of information she can use to her advantage.

"He said he would be assigning Slytherins to other Houses. Maybe you'll get assigned to Gryffindor."

"...Sorry, what was that?" There's genuine confusion on his face, and Hermione feels the encroaching urge to smack her palm against her face.

"You might get assigned to our House to talk for us!"

"I might get a pie on a Muggle Bus?"

...Now she knows he's just messing with her.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco smiles at her, weakly, a gesture hollow as a catheter, and she wonders what sort of tribulation he's come upon this time. Pitilessly, whatever anxieties he's suffering have no effect on his "duty" and he nods back down the hall from which he came, gesturing for her to go on, take a step, soak up the school life.

She exhales soundlessly (literally) and marches where he offered, doing her upmost to keep her nose in the air, a crude gesture proof of all she's limited. Draco expels some sort of noise _did he just snort? _and steps after her into the fray, simple school accoutrements clutched against his dark robe.

"Nothing to say, Granger? Odd, I must say, you're always so full of words. Useless words, but, words, nonetheless."

_'God, how I hate you, you little maggoty, saxicolous-'_

"Potions, huh?" Draco rolls his eyes. "Better than Weasley Junior's classes, I wager."

_'Of all Houses, why does it have to be Slytherins?' _she wonders. _They're the ones who talk the most and still say nothing at all. At least Hufflepuffs have some form of intellect._

She ignores the background noise from Draco and hums to the tune of _Early One Morning_, fingering the upraised letters of her own schoolbook.

_Early one morning_

_Just as the sun was rising_

_I heard a young maid sing _

_In the valley below_

_Oh, don't deceive me_

_Oh, never leave me_

_How could you use_

_A poor maiden so_

* * *

"Can't stand Draco," Ginny mouths. They're seated in the Gryffindor common room, coiled up in a little red armchair in the corner of the place, each with a textbook in their hand. "Why did he get assigned me? Not even in your grade."

Hermione shrugs. Mouths back, "Don't know. Might be because of your time schedule?"

Ginny frowns. Goes back to trying to read the textbook. In truth, the likelihood of them actually getting anywhere is almost zero. Not only has the spell rendered them mute, it's also made them illiterate; unable to read, write. It's like whoever cut them off didn't want them to communicate by voice, but rather by emotions, touch.

It's such a raw thought, and she wonders what motive anyone would have for stirring up such a concoction. She feels like she's a part of something else, something bigger, something more significant that she's missing.

"Whatever the reason, I don't care," she mouths back to Ginny. "I don't need him to read me the lessons like a little kid, I can handle myself."

Ginny doesn't catch all of the sentence. It's clear, as Hermione can see her piecing together her words slowly, almost hear the click of the gears in her head as they pinwheel. "Uh, you kinda do," she mouths back.

She nudges Ginny with her elbow, gives her a reprimanding glare.

Ginny smiles faintly and returns her gaze to the book.


	4. Chapter 4

For some reason, it's actually kind of noisy today.

Hermione pushes through the crowd, in an attempt to get away from Draco. He's supposed to be shadowing her classes and assisting her. Like she needs assistance. What she needs is to get away from the gross little ferret he is.

_Why couldn't Moody's spell have been permanent? More importantly, why is this happening to me?_

She'd have gone straight up to Dumbledore's office in order to ask if she could be assigned a different partner... but that wasn't how she did things. Besides, it would be rude to disturb him over a matter as small as Draco.

Eugh.

She lets out a little sigh and takes the steps up the twisting pathway two at a time, Draco panting behind her.

"Wait up, Granger!" he shrieks.

She doesn't really notice that he doesn't call her _Mudblood_. Just turns and keeps on walking.

* * *

Great. This is... great.

"Shh!" Draco hisses at her, as if she can even say anything. She scowls and turns to him, crossing her arms defiantly. Something in the broom cupboard clatters and they both wince. In her head, Finch is already walking down the hallway, waiting for them to-

"Stop worrying. Bloody hell, Granger, I can hear you thinking from here," Draco whispers. She wonders how he's able to sound so angry when she can barely hear him at all.

"My fault?!" she mouths. "This is your fault! I just went for a walk!"

"Well, there are all sorts of creepy things around here! Besides, I wanted to go for a walk, too," Draco utters, pressing his back against the end of the cupboard as they hear Filch's footsteps slowly recede. A little sliver of light cuts through the predominant black, and Draco lets out a little noise that sounds like 'eep'.

"You were stalking me!" she wants to scream, but no noise comes out. She just punches him in the arm.

"Ouch!" Draco hiss-whispers. "That hurt!"

_Good_, she thinks. _I'm glad it did._

* * *

"Do you want to study in the Great Hall, Granger? I've got a few of your Potions textbooks and some time to waste," Draco rambles, as Hermione struggles to get back to the Gryffindor common room. By herself.

_It's clear he's only trying to study with me to rub it into my face that I can't read at the moment. Or talk. Or write. _

"'Course, if you're not interested... I can see you walking towards the Gryffindor common room, Granger."

She wonders why- and how- he knows where the Gryffindor common room is. Probably for some disgusting, gross, icky Draco reason. Eugh.

She rolls her eyes and opts to ignore him, instead crossing another bend around the moving staircase.

Then it turns to a room she hasn't seen before. Guides her there.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" Draco croons, taking a step towards the new 'Room'. She grabs at his arm but he shrugs it off. "Come on, Granger."

_I don't have a death wish, idiot. But I'm starting to think you might have._

As if he's just heard what she said, his lips peel back in a grin, and he snarks, "never get people's fear of death; what's the worry if you haven't lived yet?"

Oh... she really wants to go to the common room, she doesn't have time for three-headed dogs or goblins or ghouls right now... but it'd be pretty bad if Draco got his head bitten off when she ditched him.

She inwardly groans and follows him into the little room, glancing around nervously. No wands, no magic... Just a few of Fred and George's magic smoke rocks, and she's starting to realize what a bad idea this is turning out to be.

"What's this?" Draco murmurs. The room's dark and freezing, and she exhales sharply, lifting up her hands to rub off her shoulders. Something crunches beneath her shoe, and she freezes in her path. It's too dark to see ahead where the walls are- in fact, the room feels so empty it mightn't have walls at all.

She lifts up her shoe and traces the curved edge, her brow furrowing when she feels something cold. _Snow_.

She knows almost all the hidden rooms in Hogwarts. But she's never heard of a room full of snow.

Draco pulls down a sheet concealing some sort of a mirror, and races the ornate gold frame, before reaching out to touch his reflection.

The silver bounces, ripples, like water.

"Granger, come and look at this," he urges, giving the mirror another tap.

_Portal_, she deduces.

"Any clue what it is?" he mutters. She inwardly groans, waiting for him to piece it together. "Come on, you must have some idea."

_Portal_.

"Perhaps it's some sort of a magic mirror."

_Portal._

"Or... a portal?"

_Yes._

"Or perhaps it's just a mirror that you can put your hand through," he says, sticking his hand through it, then yanking it back quickly. Hermione frowns, and does the same.

The other side is, strangely, warm. She can feel the sun melting on her skin, and, before she knows what she's doing, she's stepping through the entire thing.

Her brow furrows.

It's a meadow.


End file.
